Page 55 of The Horned King

I drag a chair over and place it in front of the mirror so she can style my hair for me again. "He doesn't know me well enough to get jealous," I tell her. "I've only been here a few days."

Using a comb to tame the snarls, her eyes don't leave the wild waves this humidity has caused while she speaks. "Do you know how many people have challenged the king, in any capacity, since he took over?"

"That have lived to tell the tale, you mean?" I specify.

She tugs on my hair a little, causing me to laugh. "I mean, at all."

"Can't say I do." I shrug. "Haven't thought to ask."

"None."

"Please." I roll my eyes. "Some man appears with a horde of the dead, takes over, and nobody even asks any questions?"

Using some kind of heavy cream-like substance, she smooths my hair, turning the chaos of it into something lovely. Still wild, still me, but bringing out the beauty in the madness. Each morning when I've done my own hair, I've had a crippling headache by the end of the day, using such force to tame it into a bun that it hurts. Only when I've allowed Raya to style it does the pain abate.

"He didn't leave anyone behind to question it," she explains. "And since then, whether he'll admit it or not, he's been lonely. Nobody wants to live in a world where nobody ever pushes them to be better or challenges them to grow. What kind of life is that?"

"What about Shan? Or you?" I ask, still ignoring that wriggling feeling I get in my stomach when I think of just how close the two of them are.

"Shan is a nobody," she laughs. "He was hired as a glorified secretary and only thinks his position is of any import. And I-" she pauses. "I couldn't challenge the king even if I wanted to."

That seems like a strange thing to say, but I don't think too much of it, still silently wondering how they know each other so well. "How long have you known His Royal Majesty again?" The question escapes me even when I didn't want it to.

Half of her lips lift. "Since we were children, really. He's the closest thing I've ever had to family." Oh. "Yes, even the formidable king was once a child."

Against my better judgment, I imagine him as a child, limbs too long for his little body, stumbling all over the place before he grew into himself. I imagine him navigating terrible powers that he wouldn't even have an understanding of yet, perhaps killing people without even knowing what it meant.

I imagine him as a teen, already towering over everyone, learning to fight beside warriors much older and more experienced, and how he might already scare all of them.

"He must have been pretty isolated," I comment, running my fingers through the waves she calmed for me.

"Fighting for the previous king was the worst," she admits, eyes staring into nothing in the mirror. "The battlefields ran red with Fae and other creatures' blood for no reason other than Rivchi thought everything different was an abomination. That's why the witches helped Kai take over."

"They what?" I nearly leap out of my seat.

She grips my shoulders and turns me to face her. "You mustn't tell anyone. Knowing outsiders helped stage a coup would destroy our world as we know it. But you have to know, as awful as Kai is, his cruelty is doled out equally. He doesn't pick and choose who is victim to his monstrosity based on what they are, where they came from, or who they love. He's terrible to everyone."

"Who they love?" I ask, wondering where that detail came from.

Her eyes turn glassy for a second, confused and sorrowful. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. Something's... something's not... I need to go."

Without another word, she flees from my bedroom, leaving me lost in all this new information. If Rhyma and the others found out about this, they could use it as leverage to oust Kairon and place someone else on the throne. Someone more willing to give them what they need.

Is that what's right, though? No. He's taken me in and kept me safe, after all. I can't say the same would be true of anyone else who might take over. Especially someone put in place by a country as uneducated as my own.

As I apply the cosmetic on my face- and neck- I contemplate what to do with this new information. Is a fair tyrant really any better than an unfair one? Just because Raya believes in him and sees the good doesn't mean he's the person she claims he is. As she said, she can't challenge him anyway.

The only course of action is to ignore it. If the witches who see all and know all put him on the throne, he's the person who should be there—not just for the sake of his people and mine but for the sake of all life.

Rage momentarily forgotten, I step out of the bedroom towards our common area where we are to share breakfast. While I expected him to be in crisis mode due to Raya running from our conversation as if it burned her, there he is, perfectly dressed with his gorgeous hair immaculately styled.

His devilish smirk greets me as he sips his coffee. "How did you sleep?"

Choosing to pretend the previous conversation never happened, I ignore his existence completely, letting my anger overtake any empathy or respect that might be growing.

"Well, I hope," he continues, and only when I finally really look at him do I see the signs of what Raya had said about his lack of sleep. It seems to be getting even worse. The shadows under his eyes are more pronounced than usual, a deep purple I haven't seen before.

He sips his coffee, and I see more proof the longer I look at him. The wrinkles in his dark gray pants and yellow shirt- yellow? My eyes narrow, zoning in on the color that I thought was so beautiful just moments ago, and now I hate with every fiber of my being.

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